[] Great! You're out of that damned Morphogenic Engine and stretching your own legs for once. Awesome!
[] Japan. You've never actually been there, but you have a friend with favors you can call on who lives there.
It takes you close to a year to escape the States.
Planning late in the night and into the early morning, running from hideout to the next with barely enough time to pack, the screams of those unfortunate or foolish enough to corner you in nondescript alleys. That was your life for those first four months after your escape; a blur of actions, gunfire, and blood, both yours and your pursuers.
Everywhere you went, Murkoff was close behind. Nobody could be trusted. Nowhere was safe. Every shadow was a threat in waiting, and every moment spent idle was one you could have used to further increased your chances of survival.
At least until the leak came out.
Apparently, there you weren't the only one to escape Mount Massive. A former Murkoff employee, Waylon Park, managed to survive and leave that place with a camcorder and documents filled with everything Murkoff did. Human rights groups, the government, even the UN turned their wrath on Murkoff and the company went up in smoke in less than a week.
You honestly laughed your guts out watching the live broadcast of the Murkoff CEOs being escorted out of their homes and taken to stand trial. You laughed harder when those fiends were sentenced to either death or life in a maximum security prison without parole.
Afterwards, it was all about gathering the funds needed to travel. Miles' ID was still usable, but you had exhausted most of his personal funds trying to elude Murkoff and survive. You worked whatever jobs were available, pulled double shifts when needed, and took Japanese learning classes whenever the opportunity presented itself. It wasn't easy, but you made it in the end and that's all that matters.
Once you got enough money, you booked the first flight available and dropped everything to travel to Japan. There was nothing but bad memories for you here in America, and suspected that Murkoff still had a few unseen operatives with orders to catch or kill you. Starting fresh was the only option you had.
From your seat on the plane, you peer out the window with detached interest as the clouds drift by. In your hands is the camcorder Miles brought with him to Mount Massive. You don't know why you kept it; the screen was cracked, it was covered with scratches and it still smelled like blood no matter how many times you cleaned it. But there was something in the way it felt in your hands. How you can remember where every scratch and ding on it was. How its weight in your hand feels comfortable beyond measure.
That last part wasn't you, of course. Maybe a leftover of Miles that stuck with you after you took over? Some kind of leftover emotional attachment?
You don't know. You don't care.
The plane lands three hours later. Waiting for you by the reception hall is a reedy man holding a piece of paper with your name on it. You recognize him as Murataka Takeshi, an associate of Miles from the time he had to cover a story in Africa. You walk to him and he leads you to one of the cafes in the airport lobby area. You make your orders and make small talk while you wait. Your food arrives a few minutes later.
"I'll admit, it was quite the surprise when you contacted me out of the blue. Moreso when you called in that favor I owed you." he starts, reaching down.
"Is that a problem?" you raise a brow, your powers lurking just beneath your skin and ready for use.
"Not at all." he hands you folder. Inside are papers, documents, and a few envelopes filled with Japanese currency. "I was anticipating this. Merely stating my thoughts." he gestures to the folder. "Inside is everything you need to start a new life here. I went ahead and provided you with a place to stay and several job opportunities in a separate envelope, as well as starting funds."
"I hope none of this was too bothersome for you." you apologized, eyes skimming the papers your- Miles' associate gave you. "I understand that it isn't easy to convince Japanese authority to look the other way..."
"Oh, you have no idea." Takeshi chuckles. "Had to call in a few favors of my own and piss off a couple of assholes, but I figured it's only fair after what you did for me."
"..." you look at the man, setting the folder and its contents aside for a moment. "How's your family doing?"
"They're fine." he smiles, warm and happy. "Made sure to follow your advice once I got back. I learned my lesson in Africa."
"The Hekmatyars are still looking for us, the last I heard." you shrugged, Miles' memories of a story gone wrong and a nightmarish escape from a group of pissed off arms dealer surfacing in your thoughts. "Though, that was what, five years ago? I doubt anyone can hold a grudge for that long."
"I'll be sure to keep any future vacation plans away from that hellhole, then." you watch him push aside his empty plate and rise. "It's good to see you again, Miles."
"You too, Takeshi." you offer a hand and he shakes it. "Take care."
"Considering you're the one fleeing to Japan, I think I should be the one saying that."
"I guess." you laugh. "See you around?"
"Yeah." he nods, smiling. "See you."
He leaves without another word and you're left to finish up your meal. Then you produce the folder and look through its contents properly. True to Takeshi's word, there are several job offers in the folder that favor individuals with your- Miles' skills. The residence he managed to get you isn't much, just a studio apartment with a good view of the city you'll be living in.
You produce another sheet of paper from the folder and look it over. On it, you spot your new name.
[] Write-in
Further down, you see the city you'll be living in. It's called:
[] Kuoh Town
[] Fuyuki City
[] Tokyo
[] Tatsumi Port Island